the hills are blind and don't care about you
by poisonrationalitie
Summary: fay is on the run and her heart is hollow. / written for 'writing club - secret september - 8. emotion - loneliness'


**A/N: For the Hogwarts' Writing Club, Trope of the Month 8. Emotion - Loneliness. **

**Warnings: Character Death**

She was alone. Goosebumps rose on her arms as another gust of wind blew. A high, piercing whistle stabbed her ears. Her coat was soaked, and hung heavy on her skeletal frame, resultant of months of being on the run. Her left sleeve draped sadly over her stump. Dark hair was bundled beneath a beanie, though the tips of her ears felt like icicles. She puffed clouds of warm air as she walked, the snot in her nose practically frozen. She'd been prone to getting sick, and Annie had liked to tease her about it, calling her 'Fay Snotbar'. It wasn't the most original name in the world. Annie and Fay had laughed themselves silly over it anyways, caught in fits of giggles in the way only teenage girls could be.

Fay dried herself once more with her wand, and cast another warming charm. She was exhausted. The enchantment was more preventative than anything else, now. Thick clung to the grass, looking almost like a light dusting of snow. It would be close to Christmas time, she knew, but it seemed this Christmas would be spent on her own. When she'd been at Hogwarts, she had always gone home for Christmas. It was never anything flash, but her dad would make hot chocolate and her mum decorated the tree with a deft hand. Fay was a tall girl almost the height of her father, and it was her job to top the tree with a worn star.

It was strange to think that people might be shopping for Christmas. That in the muggle world, there would be kids whining and pointing at toys and writing letters to Santa, that there would be families getting their photograph taken for the cards. Her mum had always been good at knowing just what to buy, and wrapping several layers around the present, so that you would spend ages on every gift, trying to find it. Fay hadn't bought any gifts this year, nor was likely to receive them. She and the other Gryffindor girls in her year had always played Secret Santa. Would they still be doing that, she wondered. Lavender and Parvati had organised it, and she didn't know if they were at school. Would they have even numbers to do it? Annie would probably sit out if not. She called Christmas a crock of hippogriff shit. It hadn't stopped her participating.

Part of her wished that Annie was with her. Part of her hated Annie for not being there. She and Fay had intended to return to school together, regardless of what else happened. Fay hadn't had the time to tell her about the change of plans. Still, a fire burned in her stomach, angry that Annie didn't just _know, _that Annie hadn't tried to owl her. Or at least, no owl had reached her. Fay looked up at the sky, expectant, as if a letter might drop out of the sky. It didn't. The sky didn't care about her. She was lost, now. Alone.

But she could do this on her own. She had to. After coming home to the door propped open, the living room desecrated, her parents - the sob choked her. Of course, Fay had known there was a threat. Both her parents were muggle-borns. She wasn't stupid. That didn't mean she had expected to come home from the corner store and see them like that.

Hills stretched out ahead of her as far as she could see, which was admittedly little in the dark. Salt lingered in her nostrils. A beach was close by, but she couldn't tell if she was walking towards it or not. Fay was a northern girl, and Cornwall meant little and less to her. It had just been the farthest she could escape. Up north, in her hometown, she had never felt lonely. She knew the faces of her neighbours, her friends, her townspeople as well as she knew her own. Hard work tied them together, each day another thread. Here, she was on her own. Fay had grown up having the run of the moors. This was different. The land was rocky and jagged and strange, a stranger to her.

Acid was building in her legs. She gritted her teeth. Kept walking. Part of her knew apparition would be the easier solution, but she didn't know where to go. Besides, since the cross-country trip had left her a hand less, she wasn't overly keen on a second attempt. Her lungs screeched with each breath, and her throat was raw from illness. The wind blew again and a strand of loose hair whipped her lips. They began to bleed once more, already cracked.

She missed the castle. It was a deep ache in her bones. She wanted to be back in the Gryffindor Common Room, giggling about boys or beating Neville in gobstones. It had been nearly a month since she'd spoken to another soul. A muggle man with grey stubble and stained fingers. She had felt too guilty to steal from him.

It wasn't that she'd been a social butterfly. She'd had _friends_, but she wasn't a Lavender Brown. But tonight, she needed somebody. Even just somebody to crack a joke with, she thought. _Something. _She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken. Part of her wondered if she still could. Her chest felt hollow. If she tried, would any words come out?

Once, after Cedric died, Fay had gone quiet. She'd had a crush on him, sort of. Annie had had a crush on him, and so Fay joined in. In the end, it didn't matter if she'd had a crush or not. The image of his body had been seared onto her brain. It had felt as if the words had been stolen from her. Annie had leaned over, smiling sadly, and rapped her knuckles on Fay's forehead. "Anybody there?" she'd asked. "Hello? Looking for Fay. Dunbar. Obviously." And Fay had managed a smile, and then the words had come. And through Annie, through talking, things had got better. She tried to imagine Annie knocking her on the head now. But the girl wasn't there. All that was there was a faint sea mist, and unrecognisable plants swaying in the wind.

Fay began the descent down the hill, tugging her beanie down. The rain was easing, at the very least. Small droplets ran down her face, and she savoured the feel of moisture on her lips. Another shudder ran through her. Her heart fluttered, and it made her queasy. The grass grew longer, and she did her best to push it aside, one-handed. Her boots _squelched. _At the bottom, rocks lined a stream that blocked her path.

Fay put her hand on a boulder. She drew it back almost immediately. It was like touching snow without gloves. Her teeth slammed together. She blew out a long breath, and held out her arm to balance. Slowly, she balanced herself and managed to walk across the rocks to the edge of the water. Moss floated gently along the water, disturbed by the weather. Fay could briefly see her reflection in the dark water. She was almost unrecognisable when compared to the Gryffindor girl who had wanted to play beater. She was becoming more and more part of the landscape, turning from girl to ghost. Her heart longed for civilisation, for friendly faces, for _people. _Hell, she would've even almost taken Draco Malfoy.

In the water, she could almost see her parents, in the small floating forms that clunked between the rocks. Not as they had been in life, but in death. Pale, faces frozen in fright, wands in hands, eyes wide. She had never seen her mother afraid, not of anything, not spiders or the dark or when Fay's father had been trapped in a mine accident for two days when Fay had been small. Yet in her last moments, she had been terrified. Fay had almost gone to her parents, almost clung to them, almost cried, but instinct made her run. It had probably saved her life. She blinked, looking away. _It's just moss and plants. _She reached her stump arm out, before realising that her father was not by her side. Fay was on her own. They would never be with her again.

Cautious, she dipped a toe in the stream. Fay swore. It was so cold as to be painful. Her toes tingled. Desperately, she searched for another solution. Maybe she could apparate across, just to the other bank. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the water rise behind her eyelids. She wanted somebody else to have the answers, somebody else to tell her what to do. She wanted her mum and dad. She couldn't do it. Her eyes flung open, and the tears froze on her cheeks. She couldn't think of a way around. Her legs felt like lead, and the shivers were growing more and more frequent.

Gasping, she bent down. Something slipped. "Fuck!" Her vision blurred. Shooting pain raced up her spine. Her tailbone screamed. Dark clouds spun above her, and raindrops pelted her face. Her fingers wriggled, searching for her wand. It was gone. Pain flooded her, and she began to cry. Each sob sent knives through her lungs.

"Mum," she whimpered, shaking. "Dad." Why weren't they there with her? Why was she alone? She was only seventeen. She was just seventeen. All around her, there were rocks and streams and hills and endless blades of grass, but not a soul in sight. She wanted her parents. She wanted Annie. Annie would know what to do. Annie was decisive, Annie was smart. "Don't leave me," Fay begged. "Come here. Help me. You fucking bitch. Help me! Why aren't you here?" she shouted, using the last of her energy, of her power. "Why did you all leave? Why did you leave me?" But she had left them. She was the reason she was all alone in the middle of winter, laying by a stream, with nobody to hear her cries.

Blood was gushing from somewhere. Groaning, she moved her hand, patting her body, searching. She found the source of blood somewhere along her thigh. She took a deep breath, and then shoved her hand down the back of her pants. Her hand was cold against her skin, and she grunted. It seemed to becoming from a graze. She exhaled sharply when she touched it. Where the hell was her wand? If she had two hands...If she had two minds. Fay shuffled herself up into a sitting position.

Who would have ever thought she'd end up here? She and Annie had nearly been inseparable since they'd first become friends. They'd whispered first crushes to one another, and played wizard's chess and gobstones. Annie had helped her plan out a training regime to try out for Gryffindor beater, though she never beat the Weasley twins. They'd done french braids on each other's hair and practised for the Yule Ball together, going over steps alongside Lavender and Parvati. She pulled her hand out, fingers twitching, remembering the way their hands had fit each other's. She closed a fist. The memory was gone, fading with the clouds. "Annie," she whispered. "Please."

And in the end, it wasn't the cold that bothered her, or the wind, or the rain. It was that she was alone. Fay shut her eyes tightly, still thinking of Annie.


End file.
